


that damn strip of skin

by thehibiscusthief



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Pining Oikawa Tooru, crop tops, featuring oikawas attempts at poetic descriptions, im taking this trope and running with it, iwaizumi's abs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 06:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9110932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehibiscusthief/pseuds/thehibiscusthief
Summary: Iwaizumi Hajime’s shirts were too damn short.They shouldn’t be so short; after all, he himself was rather small. Logically, he should be swimming in his shirts. They should dwarf him, more like dresses than shirts. If Iwaizumi were wearinghisshirts-Well, let’s stop that thought right there.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for askhqchibis secret santa for mellojellochan on tumblr

Iwaizumi Hajime’s shirts were too damn short.

They shouldn’t be so short; after all, he himself was rather small. Logically, he should be swimming in his shirts. They should dwarf him, more like dresses than shirts. If Iwaizumi were wearing  _ his _ shirts-

Well, let’s stop that thought right there.

Oikawa leaned back against the wall of the gym, moodily sucking down water with narrowed eyes. Across the court, he could see Iwaizumi working with Kyoutani and Kindaichi and, as always, wearing a shirt that was much too short.

What made his shirts too short? Well, every time he jumped for a spike, every time he raised a hand to slap Oikawa, hell, everytime he shrugged, the hem of his shirt would rise just a few centimeters, revealing a pale strip of skin.

If Oikawa were the literary type, he would write poems to this strip of skin. He would write of soft sunlight highlighting the ridges of hips. He would write of dips and curves, valleys and hills in an untouchable landscape. He would write odes and odes to that stupid strip that made him flush and miss crucial sets during games.

But he digresses.

“Oi, Shittykawa! Quit dawdling and come set for us!” Iwaizumi yelled, startling Oikawa out of his thoughts. He jumped, dropping his water bottle. It hit the floor and the cap sprang off. A puddle quickly formed on the floor.

“Dammit,” he hissed, stepping back. 

“You’re cleaning that up, Trashykawa!” Iwaizumi shouted, already heading to the closet to grab a mop. He made his way back to Oikawa and thrust the mop into Oikawa’s hands before leaning down to pick up his water bottle. 

And, of course, his shirt slid up a few centimeters, revealing that damn strip of skin.

)|(

“So Oikawa.”

“So Hanamaki.”

“So  _ Oikawa _ !” Hanamaki grinned. “Are we so worked up that I don’t even get a nickname?”

“Worked up about what,  _ Makki-chan _ ?” Oikawa snapped. His face was still flushed from the water incident, although practice was long over. They were the only two still lingering in the locker room.

“Ah, we’re still in denial! Absolutely lovely. You know, it’s so much fun watching love flourish like this, a rose in the midst of-”

“What are you, a poet?” Oikawa grumbled. “Nothing’s flourishing except the mold in the showers.”

“While that wasn’t the comparison I was going for, I suppose that could work,” Hanamaki mused. “Love is usually quite disgusting to those not affected by it, especially when copious amounts of PDA are involved.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Oikawa sniffed, pulling his blazer on. “Good _ bye _ , Makki-chan.”

Just before Oikawa reached the door, it swung open. Iwaizumi poked his head in, glaring at Oikawa.

“Are you ready yet? I’d like to get home before midnight.”

“Sorry for the wait, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa chirped, murderously happy. He shot a glare a Hanamaki. “Someone just wanted some love advice.”

“That’ll be the day,” Iwaizumi muttered. “You haven’t kept a girlfriend for more than a month.”

“Rude, Iwa-chan!” he squawked.

)|(

Sitting in class, Oikawa reflected once again upon the fact that Iwaizumi Hajime’s shirts were 

too. 

damn. 

_ short. _

Oikawa was frozen in his seat, face redder than a tomato, eyes guiltily flicking from the board to Iwaizumi.

He was wearing a  _ crop top _ .

The usually quite modest lavender shirt of the uniform...the hem had been rolled up to the bottom of his ribs and the ends of the shirt were tied together, revealing not only that damn strip of skin but also an impressive six pack.

If Oikawa made it out of this day alive, it would be a miracle.

“...Oikawa-kun! Oikawa-kun, can you please read the passage for the class?”

“Uh…”

)|(

Lunch was a disaster.

Flocks of girls kept coming up to Iwaizumi, doubtlessly drawn in by that evil crop top. Oikawa couldn’t get within ten feet of him, some girl always shoving in front of him to see that damn strip of skin plus abs.

(And what abs they were!)

(Again, if Oikawa were the literary type, he would write of the gentle slopes of the muscles, the almost impercetible expansion when he breathed, the shaking and shuddering when he laughed, an earthquake in the untouchable landscape.)

(But he digresses.)

A pointy chin landed on each shoulder, interrupting his poetic endeavors.

“So  _ Oikawa… _ ” two voices said in sly unison.

“Makki-chan. Mattsun.”

“It looks like our lover boy’s got a bit of a problem, doesn’t it?” Hanamaki said.

“Seems the object of his affection’s not paying him any attention,” Matsukawa joined in.

“I don’t-”

“Yes, you damn well do. Cut the crap, Oikawa,” Matsukawa sighed. “The whole team’s sick of it. Just confess and get it over with.”

“Confess what?” he squawked, voice rising over the roar of the crowd. Several girls gave him odd glances.

Both boys leveled exasperated gazes at him.

Oikawa rolled his eyes, conceding defeat.

“Okay! Fine! I know what. But no. Iwa-chan doesn’t feel the same way, after all.”

“How oblivious can you two be?” Matsukawa muttered.

“Love is truly blind,” Hanamaki said sagely.

)|(

Oikawa pushed open the door to the locker room, catching a thread of conversation.

“...like he doesn’t even notice. You guys said this would work! All I got was a bunch of confessions from-”

“Oikawa, good to see you!” Hanamaki said loudly. Matsukawa was frantically doing something with his eyebrows. 

Iwaizumi immediately stopped talking, ducking his head and peering intensely at something in his bag.

)|(

Oikawa squeaked. He could feel his face turning red. Iwaizumi looked over his shoulder, face painted with confusion.

“Oikawa, are you okay?” he asked. Oikawa’s gaze flitted around, not sure where to look. His face? His chest? The wall? Definitely not his legs, bared by the  _ extremely short shorts _ he was wearing.

“You look feverish,” Iwaizumi said, now right in front of him, all spiky black hair and concerned eyes and long, long legs. 

How was he so short with legs like those?

“You’ve been flushed all day,” he said, raising a hand to feel Oikawa’s forehead. His shirt, slightly too short just like always, rose just enough to reveal that  _ damn _ strip of skin. “You should go to the nurse. Let me just tell the coach-”

“No! No, I’m fine!” Oikawa squeaked. The words came out thin, sounding like a sore throat.

Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes. “You sound sick, too. We’re definitely taking you to the nurse. Just wait here.”

As Iwaizumi walked away, Oikawa could feel two smug gazes on his back. He sighed, letting his shoulders slump forward.

“I  _ know _ ,” he hissed. “I  _ know _ .”

Matsukawa dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder. He looked up.

“I believe in you,” he said, echoing Oikawa’s speech. Oikawa rolled his eyes.

Iwaizumi came jogging back down the corridor, nodding to the other players. Hanamaki winked at Oikawa before walking away.

“What’d they want?” he asked.

“A slap upside the head,” Oikawa grumbled.

)|(

Walking to the nurse was rather awkward. Every time Iwaizumi so much as looked at Oikawa, he flushed, further cementing the crazy idea that he was sick. They were still in their practice clothes, Iwaizumi yet wearing those plain indecent shorts.

Iwaizumi just looked anxious. It was clear that to him, Oikawa’s blush was the sign of some serious illness.

They were almost to the nurse when Iwaizumi bit his lip and pulled Oikawa into a classroom.

“Iwa-chan, what-” he began.

“Just- shut up!” he grumbled. His cheeks were touched with a faint flush, his eyes flicking around the floor.

There must be something really interesting down there.

“But-”

“Shut up! Just for a second, okay? Hanamaki and Matsukawa have been on my case and I’m getting sick of it and I just need to-”

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa said softly.

“God, Oikawa, can’t you just shut up for one second? You talk so much I can’t even  _ confess _ to you, god-”

“Hajime.”

Iwaizumi looked up, meeting Oikawa’s gaze. Oikawa gently reached out, cupping his face. He slowly drew closer until he could feel his breath ghosting across his lips. Iwaizumi was trembling, just barely, in anticipation.

“You’re a damn tease, you know that?” he murmured. 

He could feel Iwaizumi frowning, his jaw tensing up.

“Well, maybe, if  _ someone _ wasn’t so damn oblivious-”

)|(

They walked into practice holding hands, deciding not to hide in front of the team. Hanamaki was the first to notice, pulling a face like a goldfish before excitedly whacking Matsukawa to get his attention. He turned to see them, a smug grin immediately spreading across his face.

“Holy shit, they did it!” Watari yelled, dropping his waterbottle on his foot. Water quickly spread across the polished floor.

All romantic endeavors were temporarily forgotten in the rush for a mop.

**Author's Note:**

> i once told myself i would never use this trope  
> and then i accidentally used it  
> and then i said fuck it  
> im running with it
> 
> feel free to stop by my [tumblr](http://thehibiscusthief.tumblr.com/)


End file.
